


Black Sugar

by softretrocola



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Intense, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23702416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softretrocola/pseuds/softretrocola
Summary: The infamous John Wick meets the reader in a bar.. while on a job. Some things are better left unsaid.
Relationships: John Wick/You, Keanu Reeves/Reader, Keanu Reeves/You
Kudos: 53





	1. Cold Scotch and Hot Men

“Fuck.”

The word dropped from your lips like a pin to the floor of a silent room. Only you weren’t in a silent room; you were in a noisy bar that kept getting noisier by the hour. You’d been perched on an uncomfortable stool for nearly one-hundred minutes, waiting for a blind date that clearly wasn’t interested in showing. You’d already downed two short glasses of Johnnie Walker Blue Label; if you had any more, your vision would start to blur. A glance at the current time is what’d made you utter that vulgar yet flawless word. A wave of hurt and frustration washed over you at the realization that you were going to spend the rest of this night alone.

“Everything alright?” a voice sounded, making you jerk your head to the left. A man donning all black was passing a concerned yet curious expression your way. An elegant suit and dark slacks, complete with a silk tie, covered all six feet of him. His hair, which was only a shade lighter than his outfit, was slicked back and reached his jawline. He didn’t quite have a beard but he didn’t have stubble either; it was something in between, and it was groomed nicely. Instead of settling onto the empty stool beside you, this intriguing stranger stood a slight distance away from it. His eyes, a piercing brown, darted to the exits of the bar before hastily returning to you again. You cleared your throat after a moment, running a hand through your hair. You’d been so taken aback by this man’s pristine appearance that you’d almost forgotten to respond.

“Uh… I just got stood up,” you answered, and a hopeful thought popped in your head. “Unless… you wouldn’t happen to be Ray Hart, would you?” The stranger’s lips twitched into a sympathetic smile and he shook his head.

“I’m afraid not,” he replied, glancing at the bar exits again before extending his hand. “John Wick.” You emitted a breathy chuckle and closed your palm over his, giving it a gentle shake.

“(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N),” you introduced yourself, then tapped the stool next to you. “Why don’t you have a seat, John Wick? I doubt anyone else will take it.” John’s eyes wandered towards the exits again, his gait straightening. His expression grew hard and serious, making your smile slightly drop. As you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, he took a step towards you, locking gazes again.

“I’ll have to take a rain check,” he said quickly, as if he were suddenly in a hurry. You blinked up at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh… oka--” you started, but before you could finish, John was sprinting out of view. You turned in your seat to watch a blur of black dip out of the bar, jumping as the door absentmindedly slammed behind him. For a moment, you just sat in flabbergasted silence, mulling over what had just happened. An undeniably handsome stranger approaches you, asks you if you’re okay, and affirms that he is indeed not the date that you’d been anticipating. Instead of accepting your offer to sit down and possibly share a drink with you, he’d run off as though spending another second with you would cause him to shrivel up and die. Your shoulders slumped and your bottom lip jutted out in a childish pout at the realization of this. In response to this sudden onset of even more emotional distress, you motioned a hand at the bartender.

“Another one, please.”

• • •

Nearly an hour had passed and you were still sitting in that lonely barstool, a hand curled loosely around a glass of iced vodka soda. Despite your ever-growing disappointment for how this night had turned out, you’d been smart enough to order something lighter than the scotch you’d previously been drinking, so as to keep a light buzz without losing any intelligence. You were resting your cheek against your open arm, which leaned against the refreshingly cold bar counter, and staring longingly at the exit. You hadn’t moved from this sad but comfortable position since the man called John Wick had rushed out. You supposed subconsciously you were hoping that that tall, dark stranger would magically reappear, prepared to sweep you off of your feet and into his arms, but of course, you’d had no such luck. 

The bartender, a young blonde with freshly permed curls, approached you just then. Upon getting even the slightest whiff of her cotton candy perfume, your eyes lazily traveled upwards to meet hers. She flashed you a tired and sympathetic smile.

“Uh, ma’am, it’s almost 2am,” she informed you, her voice cracking with exhaustion. “The bar will be closing for the night any minute. In other words… get out before we throw you out.” You lifted your head from its snug position in the crook of your arm, and your brows went right along with it.

“Wow, you don’t waste time, huh?” you murmured, sliding your still half-full glass towards her. “Shit… I got a ride from a friend, since… uh… well, quite frankly, I thought I’d be going home with a date tonight. You see, I-”

“Yeah, I heard the whole story,” the bartender cut you off, growing less friendly and more impatient by the minute. “You came here on a blind date, he didn’t show up, and now you’re single and carless. I get it. Believe me, I do. But if we both aren’t outside in the next five minutes, my boss will have my ass. Do you understand what I’m saying here?” With the slightest touch of alcohol still toying with your brain, you took a moment to process this, a moment that was entirely too long for Miss Cotton Candy Perfume. You opened your mouth to respond and she immediately rolled her eyes.

“Just call yourself a cab,” she huffed, and just as you thought to reach for your cell phone, a familiar voice sounded.

“I’ll give her a ride home,” it said, and you immediately whirled around on your stool. There stood the infamous John Wick, no longer dressed in colors of the night; he was now wearing a plain white t-shirt with a tan, leather overcoat and relaxed jeans. It was certainly a drastic change from his previously formal attire. Even so, he looked as handsome as ever, but you didn’t let your hidden admiration for him be shown. Much to your surprise, seeing him again wasn’t as pleasant as you’d expected it to be. Instead of feeling like a damsel in distress being conveniently saved by her Prince Charming, you felt a wave of bitterness and hurt overcome you. Instead of jumping up at his offer, you remained seated in the increasingly uncomfortable wooden stool.

“Why should I go with you?” you asked plainly, crossing your arms beneath your breasts. “You didn’t exactly make a graceful exit earlier.” A flash of genuine sympathy reached John’s face at the reminder of how he’d left things with you earlier.

“My sincerest apologies for that,” he said quietly and genuinely. “Something rather… urgent came up.” It seemed as though he were searching for the right words to say. Instead of accepting his apology right away, you pursed your lips.

“If someone didn’t die, I don’t want to hear it.” Almost as soon as you’d said it, you knew you were being too harsh. The events of the night were clearly getting to you and instead of dealing with your emotions rationally, you were taking it out on someone who was practically a stranger… and more importantly, someone who could’ve been a potential date if you didn’t just fuck it all up. As you opened your mouth to hastily apologize, John spoke.

“Actually, someone did die,” he confirmed in a quiet voice. Upon hearing this, your face fell and your shoulders slumped. Instinctively, you reached out and took your hands in his, sliding off of your stool.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, guilt coating your tone. “Really, I am. I didn’t mean any of that, I just…”

“Had a rough night?” John finished, keeping a soft grip on your hands instead of pulling away. “Yeah, me too.” You gazed into his brown eyes momentarily, finding comfort in them and hoping he found comfort in yours. Then, you slowly pulled away and grabbed your blush jacket, which was draped over the counter like a makeshift placemat.

“Well, if the offer still stands…” you started, slipping on the article of clothing over your thin black dress. “...I’ll gladly accept a ride home from you, John Wick.” His lips twitched into a slight smile upon hearing this.

“Of course it does,” he affirmed, and the bartender behind you let out a deep exhalation of relief.

“Thank Christ,” she breathed, and you chuckled through your nose before turning on your heel and walking out with John.


	2. Ride, Captain, Ride

Even for an early, pre-sunrise, barely spring April morning, the air was brisk enough to make you shiver. You bundled your jacket closer to you as you trailed slightly behind John, taking noiseless steps around the primarily empty parking lot. You watched as he halted at the driver’s side door of a jet black Mustang GT, then approached him with an incredulous grin.

“No,” you said aloud as John retrieved a set of keys from the pocket of his jeans. “This is not your car. No way!” John glanced at you and emitted a slight chuckle at your reaction. Most people were quite taken by his car, some more than others; it had been stolen once, on a day that he still struggled to forget. With ease, he slid the key into the door lock and opened it. Then, he turned to you with a prideful and somewhat smug expression.

“Indeed it is,” he confirmed, and instead of sliding right in, he took the liberty of walking around to the passenger’s side and opening the door for you. Still in total disbelief, you curtsied politely and took your seat, sighing dreamily against the leather. You felt like you were sitting on a cloud. John took his place behind the wheel and promptly started the car. The engine roared to life, and as your seat began to vibrate beneath you, your cheeks flushed. This was certainly a luxury you weren’t used to. As John turned onto the deserted stretch of road, you found yourself chuckling in surprise.

“Well,” you started, readjusting yourself, “this isn’t exactly helping me feel better about owning a Dodge Neon.” John’s lips curled into a subtle smile upon hearing this, but that was all. His focus remained on the road ahead, the streetlights illuminating his bearded face as he passed them. He looked lost in thought, and the dark eyes that had seemed so attentive earlier were suddenly dim and exhausted. Your sense of humor and positivity slowly receded as your guilt from earlier came inching back. You slumped slightly in your seat, keeping your gaze on your troubled driver.

“I’m sorry again, John,” you apologized in a culpable tone. “I don’t know what came over me back there. You didn’t deserve that.” John took his eyes off the road briefly to pass you a comforting glance.

“You have no reason to be sorry,” he assured you, taking a leisurely turn. “Considering you don’t know me too well, I’d say that was a perfectly natural way to react.” Instead of feeling peace with this response, your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Are you saying you make a habit of running out on people mid-conversation?” you asked, genuinely curious but also trying not to sound too accusing. John paused to mull this over, his expression hard with thought. After a brief moment, he spoke again.

“What I’m saying is…” he started, seeming as if his brain were fighting with his tongue over the right words to say, then shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m saying.” You released a soft chuckle and placed your hand over his non-steering hand, which rested on his denim-covered thigh.

“It’s okay,” you insisted, deciding it was best to let this go before you had something else to apologize for. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve both just had a rough and confusing night.” John nodded, and you ran your thumb over his knuckles. Instead of feeling the usual soft, bony, peach fuzz that a man’s knuckles usually provided, you felt the overwhelming nakedness and sensitivity of broken skin. As you jerked your hand back in shock, you noticed blood coating the pad of your thumb. You gasped as John simultaneously winced, and with a quick glance downward, you saw that the middle knuckles on his right hand were split open.

“Jesus Christ, John!” you yelled, your eyes widening. “What the fuck happened to your hand?!” As you awaited an answer, your mind raced with thoughts. How did you not notice this in the light of the bar earlier? You had even made contact with his palms, but had seemingly been too distracted to notice his injuries.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he said in a voice that was clearly coated with pain and struggle. You shook your head, smart enough and inquisitive enough to not drop the subject.

“You’re clearly not,” you stated, leaning closer to him. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Or is it just your…” Your voice trailed off as you started to reach a hand out, but John immediately retracted, dodging your touch so quickly that the left side of his body slammed into the array of buttons and handles on the driver’s side door. In doing so, the hem of his t-shirt had flipped upwards, briefly revealing a series of unflattering violet and amber bruises that stretched across an otherwise beautiful set of abs. You gasped once again and raised your hand to your agape mouth as John groaned in agony.

“John,” you said slowly, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “I’m gonna ask you this again. What the fuck happened to you?” There was a pregnant pause before John growled in frustration and abruptly jerked the car into an empty lot. You yelped as you slid into the passenger’s side door, the sound of screeching tires filling your eardrums. John slammed on the brakes and the car came to a halt, the intrusive moonlight glaring on the windshield acting as a makeshift lamp. As you both sat silently for a moment, only the sound of your simultaneous breathing being heard, the reality of your situation slowly began to sink in. It was almost 2:30 in the morning. You were sitting in an abandoned parking lot with someone you had only met a few hours before, and was beginning to look sketchier and sketchier as time went on. He’d previously mentioned that someone had died, and now you were discovering serious marks on him that hadn’t been there when you’d first met. As your brain started to make the obvious connections, your anxiety kicked in and you raised a shaky hand to your chest, feeling your heart race as if it were running a marathon.

“Oh, god…” you breathed, your mouth growing dry and cottony. “Oh, fuck… fuck…” John’s concern over himself and what explanation he could possibly give you for his injuries disappeared as he turned in his seat to face you, becoming immediately aware of your increasing anxiety. He attempted to place his clean hand on your shoulder comfortingly, but you quickly jerked back, eyes as wide as flying saucers.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” John promised in a steady yet cautious voice. His eyes locked on yours. “(Y/N)... I’m not going to hurt you.” You kept your back pressed to the passenger’s side door as you stared at him, your hand still measuring the rapid beats of your heart.

“Then how did you… why did you… what…” Between your mind racing and your minor hyperventilation, it was difficult to get a sentence out. John somehow understood what you were trying to get at and let out a quiet sigh.

“I’ve been trying to figure out a way to put this delicately,” he started, running his uninjured hand through his dark hair. “The reason I left so abruptly earlier… and the reason I’m not exactly in the greatest physical condition right now… is because of my job.” A dash of puzzlement mixed with the fear in your expression as you stared at him uncertainly.

“You said someone died,” you reminded him, not daring to move from what you considered to be the safest spot of the car. John nodded slowly and stiffly.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m… an assassin. And I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t respect you. Believe me, I’ve made up some interesting tales before to wiggle out of the truth. So you can trust that I’m not going to hurt you. I only hurt those who I’m paid to… or otherwise contractually obligated to.” You took a moment to let this sink in, and when it finally did, you felt your heart rate gradually begin to slow. With a still considerable amount of caution, you peeled yourself off of the passenger’s side door and readjusted yourself in the seat, staring ahead at the moonlit windshield.

“So… you’re an assassin,” you repeated, and in your peripheral vision, you saw John give a nod.

“Correct.” You fidgeted with the zipper on your jacket as you struggled to process this.

“And your target was in the bar where we met tonight.”

“Targets, actually,” John fixed, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “I had a double hit tonight.” Upon hearing this, you took a deep breath through your nose and exhaled through your mouth. Then, you patted your thighs and turned to face him.

“Okay,” you said in a calmer, more levelheaded tone. “Thank you for being honest with me.” John quirked a surprised brow; it was obvious this wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, especially after witnessing you spiral into a panic attack just moments before.

“That’s it?” he said incredulously. “No calling the cops? No running away screaming?” You chuckled humorlessly and leaned your head against your open palm.

“Oh, I definitely won’t be sleeping tonight with all of this new information rattling around in my brain,” you said honestly. “But I’m not going to crucify you for it. A long time ago, and I mean a long time ago, I used to know an assassin. Of course I wasn’t aware of her lifestyle until she finally worked up the nerve to tell me about it; I had previously been under the impression that she was a self-defense instructor. I did the whole running away screaming thing, and it cost me a valuable friendship. I don’t want to do that again.” John sat quietly for a moment, probably feeling both relieved and totally shocked at everything that had happened in the last ten minutes. After a moment, he spoke again.

“What’s her name?” he inquired softly.

“Hmm?” You were looking at him tiredly.

“Her name,” John repeated. “The assassin you were friends with. Maybe I’ve rubbed elbows with her, being in the same business and all.” You let out a reminiscent sigh, feeling a touch of melancholy talking about past events.

“She gave me a fake name, but I heard through the grapevine that she was called Perkins by her peers,” you informed him. “Do you know anyone by that name?”

John was still for a moment, his expression hardening as he thought back to his encounter with the aforementioned female assassin. She had broken into his hotel room and damn near killed him, despite it being against hotel rules to do so. John had managed to hold her down and pull a gun on her, but he’d never ended up shooting it. It was Winston’s henchmen who had done that job, killing her and leaving no trace of a body. As these memories ran through his head, John turned and looked at you. There was innocence and hope glimmering in your eyes; it was obvious that you were interested in Perkins’ whereabouts and well-being. Knowing that she was no longer alive would crush you, and after all that you’d been through tonight, he didn’t have the heart to put you through anything more. With a swift move, John readjusted himself in his seat and restarted the car.

“Nope,” he answered dishonestly, and started back on the road.


	3. Heavy Metal

The rest of the ride was smooth sailing now that everything was out in the open. As John continued to cruise down the streets as they came, you grabbed napkins and tissues from the glove compartment and cleaned the blood from his knuckle wounds as gently as you could. As you did this, you began to have thoughts… or rather, curiosities… about what John looked like when he was working. Right now, sitting behind the wheel of his car and getting quietly tended to by you, he looked sweet and vulnerable. But what about when he was on a job, toting heavy machinery and ruthlessly letting bullets fly? Did he look so innocent then, or was there a malicious glint in his eye when he took out his victims? You remembered the elegant suit he’d been wearing when you’d first laid eyes on him. Had he been wearing it before, or had he dressed up specifically to take lives? A shiver went down your spine just pondering it. You weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer to any of these questions your brain was conjuring up.

As John turned down your street, you broke out of your thoughts and instead released a dreadful groan. He glanced in your direction, quirking an inquisitive brow.

“What’s up, buttercup?” he asked, and your lips twitched into a helpless smile. Despite the growing irritation that came with approaching your apartment, John uttering that goofy catchphrase was damn adorable.

“I’m just not ready to go in there and face my roommate,” you said, running a tired hand through your hair. “I told her that I was looking to move out a few days ago, and she’s been nothing short of bitchy to me ever since.” Your eyes drifted upwards to the third floor of the small apartment, which was the only floor with light illuminating the windows. “Looks like the devil is home… and she’s not wearing Prada.” Instead of laughing at your joke, John looked at you thoughtfully.

“You’re moving?” he repeated, and you returned your gaze to him.

“Uh… yeah,” you said slowly, as if it was something you still had to think about. “I haven’t decided if I’m leaving New York or staying yet. All I know is that I need to get the hell out of that apartment.” As if on cue, your roommate peeked out the window from behind the yellow blinds, her eyes narrowing as she struggled to catch a clear glimpse of you and John in the car. You took note of this and groaned again.

“Well… wish me luck, John Wick,” you said, reaching to unbuckle your seatbelt. Without thinking, John shot his hand forward and wrapped his fingers around your wrist, halting any action that was happening with it. You lifted your head to look at him, a pleasantly curious expression on your face.

“Stay,” he said quietly, then quickly cleared his throat, releasing your wrist. “I mean, stay with me tonight. You’re more than welcome to.” Your eyebrows raised as you continued to look at him in the darkness of the car.

“Really?” you asked, feeling a tad surprised. “If this is because of what I said, please don’t feel obligated to-”

“I don’t,” John cut in. “I want you to… if you want to. You can take my bedroom for the night. I think my dog will be pleased with a change of scenery in there.” You laughed out loud at that, then smiled graciously at him.

“Thank you, John,” you said genuinely. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” Instead of verbally responding, John flashed you a touch of a smile and began backing out of the driveway. You settled back in your seat with a light grin beneath your nose as well; it seemed, contrary to earlier thoughts, you weren’t going to be spending the night alone after all.

• • •

Seeing the opulent, almost complicated, house in which John Wick lived resulted in another moment of shock and total disbelief from you, one that was quite similar to your reaction to his Mustang GT. Once more, it took actually seeing him unlock the front door to make you fully accept that he was the owner of such a beautiful property. The inside was just as flawless as the outside, but it was also decorated rather plainly. You sensed it hadn’t had a woman’s touch… until he led you into the bedroom, where a photo of him and an undeniably gorgeous woman rested in a propped up frame on the nightstand. Upon closer inspection, you saw a silver wedding ring in front of it, almost acting as a guard for it.

“Are you…?” You meant to conclude that sentence with the word ‘married’, but even the idea of him already being tied down made your heart sink. John followed your gaze and cleared his throat sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh… I was,” he said quietly. “I keep those there for the memories.” You nodded understandably, getting the sense that he didn’t want to expand on the topic. Smiling tiredly, you turned around to face him.

“Thank you again for everything, John,” you told him, unmaking the bed and climbing beneath the snow white sheets. “If there’s anything I can do to repay you…”

“Think nothing of it,” John smiled, and as he turned to walk out, a black-coated pitbull with a white belly came charging in. You gasped in surprise and exploded into a fit of giggles as the dog hopped up on the bed and began energetically licking your face. John stood back and watched, a smile growing beneath his nose.

“See? I told ya he’d like the change of scenery.” You laughed, scratching behind the dog’s ears to get him to calm down.

“What’s his name?” you asked as the pup settled comfortably by your feet.

“He doesn’t have one,” John replied plainly, and with that, he switched off the bedroom light and sauntered out.

• • •

As darkness surrounded you, you felt your body relax into the comforting warmth of John Wick’s bed. The sheets smelled of masculine soap and old cologne. Being beneath them made you feel closer to him, despite having only his nameless pitbull as company. You snuggled against the fluffiness of his pillow and drifted off, the silence of his spacious home guiding you into a dream.

• • •

You didn’t know what’d made you open your eyes an hour later, but you did, expecting to see total darkness before returning to sleep a few moments later. What you didn’t expect to see was the barrel of a gun being pointed directly at your face and three suited men surrounding John’s bed. It took you a moment to realize this wasn’t a dream; this was actually happening, and the realness of the sheets that covered you reminded you of this. You opened your mouth to scream as panic overtook your system, but the man pointing the gun at you slammed his hand over your lips to stifle it.

“You make one fucking noise and you’re gone,” he snarled, and you nodded vigorously to show you understood. Your eyes were wide and your breath came in quick and hot behind his palm. The man who was threatening your life was easily middle-aged and smelled strongly of sweat and cigar smoke. His hands were veiny and marked up almost as badly as John’s had been. His complexion was pale with blotches of red covering his cheeks, symbolizing the rising anger that he was clearly feeling. His unblinking green eyes stared you down, somehow making you feel even more terrified than you already were.

“Now, I’m going to slowly lift my hand,” he said in a voice so threatening, it sent a chill down your spine, “and you’re going to tell me where John Wick is. You got that, sugar tits?” Just hearing that made you want to yank the sheet up over your dress that suddenly felt too revealing, but with a gun in your face, doing such a thing seemed impossible. Instead, you gave a shaky nod. As promised, the man removed his hand from your mouth, and you instantly let out a tremored breath. This action allowed a lump to rise in your throat, and your eyes welled with frightened tears.

“I-I don’t know where J-John is,” you stammered, your gaze drifting to the edge of the mattress. The dog was no longer curled up by your feet, and upon noticing his absence, you made an internal connection. As you unhinged your jaw to voice this realization, the man thrust his gun forward, jamming it between your eyebrows. You yelped in response, a tear trickling down your cheek.

“Jesus Christ, woman!” he yelled in exasperation. “You really have a fucking death wish, don’t you?” Your brain was screaming ‘he must’ve gone out to walk the dog! He was here, I swear!’, but it refused to communicate it to your vocal chords. As you laid there, staring death in the face, the sound of approaching footsteps forced all four of you to turn your heads. John abruptly charged in, donning the white t-shirt from earlier and a pair of loose, striped pajama bottoms. Most importantly, he was gripping a loaded pistol and, judging by the outraged expression on his face, he was more than ready to start shooting it.

“Son of a--” the man started, absentmindedly lowering the weapon from your face as he fully turned to face his emerging opponent. John’s eyes locked on yours from across the room.

“(Y/N)! GET DOWN!” he shouted, and somehow, whether it be adrenaline or just pure luck, you found the strength to roll off of the covers and slide effortlessly under the bed. You clasped your palms over your ears as shots rang through the bedroom, grunts and wails of agony accompanying them. In what seemed like only a minute, beautiful silence returned. You slowly lowered your shaking hands as John’s boots came into view. They paused at the edge of the bed, then turned as he sat down with a great measure of exhaustion.

“(Y/N)?” he said quietly, and you cautiously stuck your head out from beneath the mattress. John was looking down at you, a guilty expression on his face. A violet bruise bloomed on his left cheekbone, seemingly the only visible injury resulting from the fight. The moment you locked eyes with him, you burst into tears, scrambling out from under the bed and into his arms. John was taken aback as you fell against his chest, wetting the thin fabric of his t-shirt with your tears. However, he quickly adapted and wrapped his arms around you securely. His hand ran up and down the length of your back in an effort to be as consoling as possible.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as you continued to fearfully sob. “If I had known this was going to happen… fuck, I’m so sorry.” It was obvious that John was blaming himself for your near-death experience, having been the one to insist you sleep here tonight. You pulled back slightly to look at him, sniffling and wiping your damp cheeks with hands that still tingled from your intense anxiety.

“John, you saved me,” you reminded him in a voice that wasn’t entirely steady yet. “I was seconds away from being shot before you came in. You saved my fucking life.” Upon realizing this, your eyes left John’s gaze and wandered around the room. Blood splattered the walls and the bodies of the three intruders were strewn across the floor. You raised a hand to your mouth, feeling a wave of oncoming nausea at the sight.

“Jesus Christ,” you mumbled, your eyes brimming with fresh tears. John set his hands on either side of your face, gently but firmly turning your head away from the violent outcome.

“Let’s go downstairs,” he said in a tone that remained calm and unwavering. You nodded slowly in agreement, and he took your hand in his, leading you out of the scene.


	4. Aftermath

John kept one hand on your shoulder and the other on your elbow as you both took steady steps down the staircase and into the living room. When you were about three steps from reaching the ivory carpet, your legs, which felt like jell-o thanks to the anxiety that still pounded through your system, buckled and John had to tighten his grip on your arm to keep you from falling. He didn’t let go until both of your feet had safely touched the warmth of the living room rug, and you gave a nervous chuckle in response to the situation.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, feeling embarrassed on top of everything else. “I think I’m still a little shaken up.” John flashed you a wan smile.

“You have every right to be,” he said, moving into the adjacent kitchen as you took a grateful seat on the sofa. “No one should have to go through what you just did. The dog chose the perfect time to need walking.” As if on cue, the aforementioned pit came padding in, butting you in the ankles with his damp snout before curling up comfortably on the clean carpet. You looked down at him and chuckled.

“Well, I can’t stay mad at him for too long,” you joked, your voice still unsteady and strained from crying. John returned to the parlor and sat down next to you on the couch. You felt a wave of comfort rush over you at the sensation of his weight pressing the cushion beside you.

“I just put a kettle on for some tea,” he informed you in a soft voice. “I think it’ll both hydrate and relax you some.” You nodded in understanding, releasing a slow breath. Your eyes wandered to the staircase, remembering how limp and lifeless the bodies of the intruders had looked, lying across John’s bedroom like oversized toys.

“What are you going to do about…?” you started, gesturing a hand towards the upstairs area. John’s brows immediately drew down.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he said, concern coating his tone. “You just need to focus on forgetting it.” You stared at him incredulously for a moment, then scoffed, rising from the sofa to fall into a frustrated pace.

“I just need to focus on forgetting it?!” you repeated, your voice coming out high-pitched and frantic. “You’re asking the impossible, John. I’m never going to forget what I’ve seen tonight. People go to therapy for this shit. Have you ever heard of emotional trauma? Does that ring a bell?” John looked at you with a flat expression, leaning slightly forward in his seat.

“Okay,” he began, patting his knees before standing up. “I know this is coming from a place of anger. There’s some part of you that’s mad at me for unintentionally putting you in this situation, and I get that. So come on. Have at me. Yell at me, scream at me, punch me if you want to. Get it out of your system so we can move forward.” Your eyebrows shot up as another wave of total disbelief washed over you.

“Punch you?” you repeated, clearly baffled. John gave you a nod, spreading his arms.

“That’s right,” he confirmed. “Punch me. Hit me as hard as you can. I deserve it for what I put you through.” Your eyes traveled over the length of his body, then landed on his tired, bearded face again.

“No, I’m not going to do that,” you decided, crossing your arms. John’s still remained wide open as he stared at you.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a violent person like you are.” The words flew out of your mouth without an ounce of thought; it was like a verbal knee jerk reaction. John’s lips separated as his arms fell back to his sides. You detected a slight aura of hurt coming off of him, and your heart immediately twinged with guilt. He looked as though he was about to say something, but before he could, the kettle began whistling from the stovetop. Without a word, he turned and made his way into the next room. Acting on impulse, you followed him, almost tripping over your own feet as you did so.

“John, I’m sorry,” you apologized quickly as he switched off the oven’s front burner. “That was a low blow and I shouldn’t have-”

“You were right,” John interrupted, turning his head to look at you. “I am a violent person… when I have to be. But one thing you need to understand is that I would never hurt you.” An expression of both melancholy and sympathy fell over your face as you stood barefoot against the cold linoleum.

“But you did,” you said quietly. “John, I don’t know how I’m going to recover from all of this.” Without question, you knew the things that you had seen and experienced tonight would either keep you up at night or allow you to sleep just long enough to have nightmares. John lifted the black mug that he’d poured the water he’d been boiling into, as well as a bag of chamomile tea, from the counter and pressed it into your open hand.

“You start by drinking some tea,” he said, looking directly into your eyes. “And when you’ve done that, you sleep on the couch. I’ll rest on the carpet with old troublemaker there…” he gestured to the dog, “...so you don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you again. You’ll be as safe as can be.” Just hearing the words ‘you’ll be safe’ brought tears to your eyes again, and without thinking, you threw an arm around John’s shoulders and pulled him close.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and John slowly patted your back, nodding. He didn’t tell you this, but before you came along, he hadn’t hugged anyone in almost a year.

• • •

John stayed up with you as you finished your tea, then laid down a fresh set of sheets and a pillow against the lengthy sofa. As you were settling in and beginning to doze off, he quietly disappeared upstairs. You wondered if he was finally taking care of the damage that he’d left behind earlier, but were too tired to get up and find out. The dog kept you company until he returned, but by that point, you were fast asleep.

Your slumber started out peaceful and dreamless; it seemed as though your body had completely knocked out from the mental and physical exhaustion that came with living through such a harrowing event. Somewhere along the line, however, clear and vivid images began popping up behind your eyes. Images of you running, screaming, falling… and eventually being caught by the man who’d threatened your life only hours before. In the dream, you searched around frantically for John, even called his name, but there was no sign of him. At the last minute, the intruder curled a hand around your neck, grinning menacingly.

“John can’t help you now,” he said, and your eyes flew open. Screams and tears of terror escaped you as your entire body shook with fear. John’s living room became clearer as you returned to reality, and the sudden sensation of fingers touching yours made you increasingly aware that you were awaking from a nightmare, not another terrifying ordeal.

“You’re okay,” you heard John’s voice reassuring you, and you looked down at the carpet, where he was laying in his pajamas. “It was just a bad dream, (Y/N). You’re safe.” Hearing those words halted your tears and you sniffled, giving John’s palm a squeeze before releasing it. You threw off your sheets, which were soaked with sweat, and jumped to the floor.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said in a shaky voice, running your hands through your hair. John slowly sat up, looking sleep-deprived and more concerned than ever.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded to know, and you placed your hands on your hips.

“I can’t keep living in fear, John,” you answered in a voice that cracked with emotion. “This is just going to keep going on forever and ever if I don’t do something about it.” John stared at you, his brows knitted down and his hands outstretched.

“Okay…” he started in a cautious tone. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing-”

“I need you to teach me how to fight.”


	5. Of Life and Death

John stared at you dubiously for a moment, as if he were mentally unable to wrap his head around your far-fetched request. After a long pause, he finally found the will to speak.

“What?!” he exclaimed, and you let out an impatient breath. You should’ve known he wouldn’t exactly have an enthusiastic response.

“I need you to teach me how to fight,” you repeated yourself word for word. “That’s not a problem, is it?” As you were talking, John had risen from the floor and straightened his wrinkled pajamas, and was now running a hand through his messy hair. As he stepped a little closer to you, the exhaustion on his face became even more apparent.

“Not a problem?! I… you… no. It’s not happening.” He could barely get out a coherent sentence. You crossed your arms, remaining confident in your case.

“And why not?” you pressed. “Give me one good reason.” John huffed, leaning on the arm of the sofa. The dog had awoken from his carpet slumber and was now padding off to the kitchen to munch from his bowl.

“You said it yourself, (Y/N),” he started, his voice becoming quieter and calmer. “You’re not a violent person. I don’t want to introduce you to that world… it isn’t pretty.” Your expression softened as it became clear that his only intention was to protect you. You took a dainty step towards him, your bodies only inches apart now. You could smell his faded cologne from yesterday and the same comforting soap that’d lingered on his bedsheets. Your eyes drifted upwards to meet his as you placed a soft hand on his chest. You could feel his heart rate subtly pick up beneath your fingertips as you did so.

“John… believe me when I say I know your intentions are good,” you began, keeping your eyes on his. “Everything you’ve done for me in the last several hours proves that. But… you’re not always going to be there to save me like you did last night.” John slowly raised his own hand and placed it over yours, which still rested against his chest. His palm felt warm, heavy, and secure against your skin.

“Who says I’m not going to be there?” he asked quietly, and your lips twitched into a soft smile. You leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his clean knuckles, then turned and walked a few feet into the kitchen. You looked at the dog eating his breakfast, then back at John, who still leaned against the arm of the couch.

“Even if you are going to be there…” you started, a warm glint in your eye, “...and I hope that you will be… all it takes is one moment, John. You could be out walking the dog again, and boom… it’s all over for me.” Even the mere thought of that sent a shiver down your spine, and John could sense it. With a long sigh, he walked over to you and placed his hands on your shoulders. Immediately, you lifted your head and locked eyes with him.

“Okay,” he reluctantly agreed. “If this is something you really want to do, then I’ll do it. But if you get too hurt, or if things just get to be too much for you, we’re stopping. Got it?” You nodded, feeling hope and excitement rush through your system like a sugar rush.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him. “Thank you. This means more to me than you know.” John chuckled and patted your back lightly. The hugging was something he’d have to get used to with you around.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” he promised as you pulled back. Your eyes narrowed as you studied his face, noting every crease of exhaustion.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” you inquired, wondering if this was the reason he was postponing your training session. John cleared his throat sheepishly, palming the back of his neck.

“I, uh… I wanted to make sure you were safe,” he mumbled, as if he were embarrassed to admit such a thing. You blinked at him in surprise, then abruptly stepped back towards him and placed your hands on either side of his face, the coarse hair of his beard tickling your skin. John looked at you, bewildered, and you dove right in, placing your lips on his. At first, John was too stunned to kiss back, but he quickly adapted and enveloped you in his arms, syncing his mouth in motion with yours. After a few seconds of pure bliss, John abruptly pulled back, leaving you standing there with pouted, tingling lips. Your brows furrowed as he stepped away from you, leaving a foot of space between your once-attached bodies.

“S-Sorry,” he stammered, looking more uncomfortable by the second. Instead of lessening, the look of concern on your face grew.

“What happened?” you questioned, disregarding his apology. “What did I do wrong?” John’s tongue swiped over his lips before he cleared his throat.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he assured you, and upon catching your worried expression, he added, “believe me.” Your shoulders relaxed upon hearing this and you slowly nodded.

“So what is it then?” you asked in a softer tone, and John released a short sigh.

“It’s just…” he started, and his gaze drifted up the staircase. Immediately, you understood what he was referencing. The framed photo being guarded by a wedding band on his nightstand might be there for the memories, but it was those memories that made moving on slightly more difficult. You felt your heart pang at this realization, but knowing he had kissed back at first gave you just enough hope to muster a smile for him.

“Right,” you said understandably. “Perhaps I moved a little too hastily there. I’ll… work on that.” John smiled back at you tiredly and reached out, touching your cheek affectionately. You leaned into it briefly, feeling the warmth and comfort of his fingertips against your skin before moving away and squatting down to pet the dog, who was making a full and happy return to the living room. John watched you with his smile remaining for a moment, then spoke again.

“You know what? Let’s get a few more hours of rest, then… I’ll start training you.” Your face lit up at this prospect, and, upon sensing your happiness, the dog licked your cheek eagerly. Continuously grinning, you stood up, looking at John.

“That sounds like a plan!” you said excitedly, and you started heading for the door. John stared at you in confusion.

“(Y/N), what are you doing?” he asked bewilderedly, and you glanced at him over your shoulder.

“I’m going home,” you answered as if it was obvious. “You didn’t want me to stay, did you?” John rubbed the back of his neck again, a move that you were quickly beginning to recognize as shyness rather than embarrassment.

“Well, actually…” he started, the dog bumping into his bare ankles. “I thought maybe you could stay with me… while I trained you, I mean. It’d be easier instead of going back and forth multiple times a day. And you said you didn’t like your roommate…” It sounded like he was trying to justify his reasons for keeping you here instead of saying the flat out obvious - he wanted you there. He clearly enjoyed your presence and was interested in getting closer to you, whether it be romantic right away or not. You slowly moved away from the door and back towards John, smiling gratefully.

“That could work,” you said happily. “Thank y-” John stopped you from finishing that sentence by pressing his index finger to your lips.

“No more thank you’s,” he instructed. “I’m more than happy to do it. Nameless and I appreciate the company.” He tilted his head toward the dog, who was now scratching at the linoleum as if there were an invisible toy there. You laughed genuinely and settled down on the carpet, where John’s pillow and blanket from his sleepless night still rested.

“I think you deserve the couch tonight,” you said, and John chuckled, graciously taking his place against the cushions. “Goodnight, John Wick.”

“Goodnight, (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N),” he responded sleepily, and it was lights out for both of you.


	6. Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly delayed chapter! Expect updating to be a little less frequent, as I'm dealing with stuff. Thank you so much for the continued support! <3

John awoke you at 6pm sharp, acting as your own personal human alarm clock. You stirred instantly, needing to absorb your environment for a few minutes before officially getting up; the nightmares that’d plagued you earlier that morning had made a swift and malicious return. John left you one of his t-shirts and a pair of his jeans to change into, as well as a bulletproof vest to strap on. You felt trepidation rise at the sight of the latter, but pushed it down immediately. Learning to fight was something you had to do, not necessarily wanted to do. Understandably, John’s jeans were sliding down your thighs rather than closing around them, so John put his quick and strategic thinking to good use and tossed you a durable rubber band and a piece of short rope. You tied back the loose portion of the jeans with the rubber band and used the rope as a makeshift belt. As you stepped into John’s view, you burst out laughing.

“This is just ridiculous!” you exclaimed, pointing at either side of the baggy jeans. John chuckled in amusement, pulling on the tan leather jacket you’d seen him wearing before.

“It’ll have to do for now,” he said, removing his car keys from his pocket. “We’ll pick up a suitcase of your clothes later. Come on, let’s go.” You quirked a curious brow, but followed him trustingly.

“Where are you taking me exactly?” you wondered aloud as you approached the gorgeous Mustang, and John glanced at you.

“You’ll see,” he responded, giving no hints.

The drive was a smooth and quiet one. You stared out of the window thoughtfully through most of it, appearing as though you were simply observing the moonlit streets, but in reality, your mind was racing. You had no idea what to expect from these training sessions with John. He was obviously quite advanced with martial arts, shooting, and the like, so things were bound to get dangerous. Your anxiety began telling you that this was a mistake, that you weren’t capable enough to handle all of this, but you quickly shut those thoughts down before they got even more out of hand. You could do this. You were strong, and this was necessary, not only for your physical well-being, but for your mental as well. You started inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth in an effort to relax yourself. John took notice of this and glanced in your direction.

“Everything alright?” he asked, turning a corner, and you nodded, forcing a smile.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Just… getting myself in the right state of mind for training.” John nodded, choosing to leave it at that instead of pressing any further. A moment or two later, he steered the car into the empty parking lot of what looked to be an abandoned garage. You raised your eyebrows questioningly and looked at him.

“What is this place?” you asked, unbuckling your seatbelt, and John’s lips twitched into a small smile.

“Just follow me,” he invited, and you stepped out of the car, doing just that. John bent down and lifted the door of the garage, revealing a complex yet perfectly organized training space. There was a wall of assorted guns, all different shapes and sizes, and cases with the necessary bullets located just below them. On the adjacent wall was a large shooting target in the cartoonish shape of a human body; you were aghast to find it was already riddled with bullet holes. A punching bag hung from a hook on the ceiling, and the floor was padded for safety. You took a moment to take everything in, then released a breathy chuckle.

“Wow,” you uttered, evidently stunned. “This certainly wasn’t what I was expecting.” John glanced over his shoulder at you as he slipped off his jacket and tossed it to the side.

“What exactly were you expecting?” he inquired in a puzzled tone, and your lips twitched into a smirk.

“I thought you were gonna be a cool trainer and take me out for ice cream first,” you teased, and John laughed, approaching the wall lined with propped up firearms.

“We’ll get ice cream afterwards, okay?” he said, and you smiled in agreement. John took down a pistol from the array of guns, quickly loading it before approaching you again.

“Let’s get the easiest task out of the way,” he started, placing the cold metal in the palms of your open hands. “The first thing I learned when I started training here was how to hit a target. That’s why our little bullseye over there isn’t exactly shiny and brand new.” Instead of averting your eyes to the aforementioned item, you kept your gaze glued to the weapon in your hands. Instead of feeling powerful and in control, your heart was beginning to pick up speed again. This was the same gun, exact model and everything, that the intruder had woken you up with less than 24 hours before. Gulping and trying your best to steady your fractured thoughts, you positioned the gun in your hands and pointed it towards the messy target. Much to your dismay, your hands began to tremble. John, who was standing beside you with crossed arms, took note of this and creased his brow.

“(Y/N), your hands are shaking,” he pointed out in a concerned tone, as if it wasn’t obvious. You breathed heavily in response, cursing yourself for allowing your fear to physically manifest like this.

“What’s going on?” John demanded to know, placing a hand on your shoulder. “If this is too much for y-”

You interrupted John’s stream of questions by squeezing your eyes shut and pulling the trigger. The sound of the shot was enough to make you jump as it echoed throughout the garage. Even so, you could hear John gasp, and then burst into a series of shocked laughter.

“(Y/N)! Open your eyes! Look what you just did!” He was hollering at you in a tone so giddy that it sounded out-of-character for him. Your eyes hesitantly fluttered open and immediately widened in shock. By some stroke of dumb luck, you had managed to hit the target directly on its ‘forehead’, despite your shaky manuevering. Thin, gray smoke was still oozing from the small circle of space you’d just created within the tough material. You felt fear leave your body as your lips twitched into a wide smile.

“Holy… shit,” you breathed, and before you had even fully taken this in, John was tackling you to the padded ground. The pistol flew out of your hand and landed somewhere on the other side of the garage. In what felt like two seconds, he had managed to pin you down, keeping a firm grip around your wrists and his legs straddled on either side of you. He sat between your hips, his eyes locked on yours as his hair hung down around his face. You were both breathless and flushed. The weight of his body on top of yours was stirring feelings in you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. You had the overwhelming urge to kiss him, grab him, and fuck him all at once, but managed to summon what little willpower you had and held back. Words found their way to your tongue and you spoke them.

“What… What’s going o-” John silenced you by placing a finger to your lips, which somehow only added to the arousal and desire you felt. His lips twitched into a slight smile as he stared down at you.

“You need to be more prepared for spontaneous attacks,” he said, finally releasing the grip he had on your wrists and climbing off of you. “You see how easily I dominated you there? That can’t happen again.” You propped yourself up on your elbows, still feeling your heart race and flutter in your chest. Although it clearly wasn’t John’s intention to turn you on, he had done a great job of it.

“Right…” you mumbled, slowly rising to your feet. You looked at John for a moment, who was running a hand through his hair, then dusting off his wrinkled jeans. Without more than a second of thought, you charged at him, letting out a screech of victory before tackling him to the ground. He was now in the exact position that you’d been in only a minute before - wrists restrained, body pinned, laps conjoined. A teasing smirk appeared beneath your nose as you watched John’s expression flood with surprise.

“How’s this for domination?” you said smugly, and all John could do was emit a breathy chuckle. You had officially stunned him to the point of speechlessness.

• • •

After the mutual feelings of excitement and silliness had passed, John continued to seriously train you for another three hours. You practiced with the pistol for only a few more minutes; John was convinced you were the next Annie Oakley with the way you naturally hit the right targets. You wrestled each other to the point of bruises, but what you’d spent the most time on was the punching bag. John taught you how to throw a punch, and when he’d succeeded in that, he asked you to treat the bag like it was one of the intruders that’d threatened you. That was all he’d needed to say to conjure up your buried rage; you wound up hitting the thing so many times and with such ferocity that the skin on three of your knuckles broke. John figured that was a good time to stop and swiftly led you to the car. As you sat in the passenger’s seat with a groan, your eyes travelled to the glowing time on the digital radio. It was now 10pm on the nose.

“I didn’t think training would be this painful,” you whined, watching as blood trickled from your wounds and coated the backs of your hands. John glanced up and thumbed a button, flooding the interior of the Mustang with yellow light.

“Yeah, you did a number on me, too,” he responded, flipping open the glove compartment and retrieving a roll of gauze and a half-drained bottle of peroxide. Guilt flooded your expression upon hearing this and you touched his arm delicately with your fingertips.

“Did I really?” you asked sadly, and John chuckled.

“I’ve been hurt far worse, honey,” he promised, and your shoulders relaxed. “Now, I’d close your eyes if I were you.” Your brows immediately furrowed.

“Why?” John flashed you a sympathetic look, taking your left hand in his.

“Because this is gonna be painful.” You squeezed your eyes shut as he poured peroxide over your affected knuckles, agony rushing through the length of your hands.

“Fuck!” you yelped, tears involuntarily spilling onto your cheeks. John grabbed a napkin from the open glove compartment and wiped off the blood and redundant peroxide from your skin. Then, unexpectedly, he took both of your palms in his and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“I’m sorry I had to do that to you,” he said softly, and you opened your eyes, looking at him through blurred, tear-streaked vision.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered in a watery voice, and a warm smile appeared beneath John’s nose. He carefully wrapped your injuries, then started up the Mustang. The clock on the radio now read 10:07pm.

“You still up for some ice cream?” John asked, placing his hands at the correct coordinates on the steering wheel. You smiled meekly and shook your head.

“Nah,” you replied tiredly, your knuckles continuing to throb. John raised his eyebrows, leaning slightly towards you.

“You sure?” he inquired again. “You can get sprink-lessss.” He said ‘sprinkles’ in a sing-songy voice that was too hilarious not to laugh at.

“As tempting as that sounds,” you started, your grin widening, “I’d love to just go back to your place and unwind. Plus… I miss Nameless.” At the reference to his dog, John chuckled and turned out of the garage.

“Whatever you say,” he agreed in a gentle tone, and you settled back in your seat, feeling satisfied with the day.


	7. 21 Days Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Space Song by Beach House on a loop while writing this chapter, and I highly recommend you listen to it while reading.. it really helps bring the scene to life <3

Three weeks of training went by faster than you could keep up with it. Every day started the same - John would wake you up at 7am sharp with a plate of ready-made scrambled eggs in one hand and a glass of lemon water in the other. As soon as you had taken your breakfast from him, he would get his share of it and eat with you on the couch. You would both engage in sleepy but affectionate chatter, and after getting dressed (thankfully in your own clothes now), you would follow him out to the Mustang and excitedly await the exercises he had in store for you. Some days would be brutal; by the 21st day of training, you’d had a cracked rib, fractured finger, and assorted bruises to show for it. But with each day, you felt stronger and more confident. The intruder anxiety that had once plagued you seemed like a faraway nightmare rather than a dark reality. Your biceps had gained some muscle and your energy levels had increased. John no longer had to wake you up at 7; you were up and moving around at 6:45, helping him with breakfast in any way you could.

On the morning of the start of your third week of training, this is exactly what had occurred. Your eyes fluttered open from a dreamless rest at 6:30. You yawned and stretched, then gave John a tired finger-wave from your place on the sofa. He smiled at you from behind the stove and waved back. You peeled yourself off of the cushions ten minutes later and padded into the kitchen, the dog rubbing against your bare calves as you did so. On this morning, you were wearing last night’s wrinkled blue t-shirt and little pink shorts. No socks or bra accompanied this outfit. As you came into John’s view, you noticed that he was wearing a black tee with matching pajama bottoms. Seeing him in such a dark shade reminded you of when you’d first met him at that lonely bar, and your heart gave a silent flutter.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice cracking with sleepiness. You smiled at him graciously, approaching his side.

“Good morning yourself,” you said, then looked down at the pan he was hovering over, shocked to see something other than the typical scrambled eggs. “Pancakes? To what do I owe the honor?” John chuckled, glancing at you before flipping over one of the two that were cooking.

“We’re not training today,” he informed you, pressing the spatula onto the overturned batter. As the satisfying sizzling sound filled the kitchen, a frown appeared below your nose.

“Why, what’s going on?” you asked, feeling concerned instead of excited. “Are you sick?” As your hand touched his forehead to test for a fever, John chuckled again.

“I’m not sick,” he assured you, wrapping his free hand around your wrist and lowering it. “I just… Well, I think you’re no longer in need of it.” You raised your eyebrows upon hearing this.

“What do you mean?” you inquired in a curious tone. John flipped over the second pancake before placing the other one on a nearby plate.

“Do you remember when we first started all of this?” he asked, turning his head to momentarily face you. “The day I took you to the garage and showed you the training room? That first time you held a gun in your hands and shot it?” You listened intently, then gave a slow nod.

“What you did then… that wasn’t normal,” John continued, breaking eye contact to keep the remaining pancake from burning. “The second that bullet hit the spot you were aiming for, I knew training you wasn’t going to be difficult. There’s something in you that was born to fight, and whatever that something is, it awakened that day in the garage, and it just kept on living.” You remained quiet, fascinated with what he was saying.

“I’ve been studying you over the last few weeks,” John said, turning off the stove and placing the last pancake on the other plate. “All of your movements and mannerisms. This last week especially, I haven’t really been training you. We get in the garage and you just start going, and I hang back and watch you. I mean… when we’re here, you’re this kind, sweet, beautiful thing. You seem so delicate and vulnerable, like an angel without wings. But the moment we get into that training space, you become… like… a tiger that’s released into the wild. You have these two different sides to you that are somehow both equally admirable. You’re just…”

As John searched for the right word, you were staring at him with eyes that threatened to brim with tears. Not tears of sadness or tears of fear, but tears of surprise. Tears of happiness. Tears of honor and flattery. You bit down on your lower lip, feeling as though your heart were about to burst in your chest.

Finally, John turned to you again, looking directly into your big eyes. His hand reached up and he curled a gentle finger under your chin.

“You’re special, (Y/N),” he said softly, and before you had time to think of a response to the verbal poetry he’d just spilled, he placed his lips on yours. This time, you were the one who was almost too stunned to move. You quickly found the energy and kissed him back passionately. His warm arms wrapped around your waist and hungrily pulled you closer to him. The pancakes that he’d so perfectly created were abandoned on the counter as you gave each other your undivided attention. As John’s lips continued to move feverishly with yours, your hands lifted up and ran through his silky locks. Your fingers traveled down the sides of his face before cupping it, feeling the prickliness of his beard against your skin. You were both breathing heavily in between kisses, needing air but needing each other more. Much to your surprise, John abruptly slid his hands down your back and clapped them to the underside of your thighs, lifting you up to meet his waist. You quickly adapted and wrapped your legs around his waist, never breaking contact with his mouth in the process.

Without saying another word, John began carrying you up the staircase. He was forced to briefly pull back from you in order to see where he was going, and during that time, you peppered kisses on his neck. When you’d reached the bedroom, John carefully laid you down against the sheets, hovering over you. You started to take off your shorts, and he hastily grabbed your wrist, halting you.

“Wait,” he breathed, maintaining sugary eye contact with you. All you could do was nod; the intensity of everything you were feeling right now had rendered you speechless. John touched your cheek affectionately.

“I want you to know this isn’t just sex to me,” he started, and your heart swelled with even more admiration for him. “It’s just-”

“John,” you interrupted, placing a tender hand on the back of his neck. “I know.” You flashed him a smile that assured him that you were feeling all of the same things he was feeling, and you had been basically since the night you’d met him. John understood what you were communicating and immediately smiled back at you. You pulled him closer to you and rejoined your lips with his, resuming the passion that had started burning in the kitchen.

Your naked skin felt at home against John’s as your bodies intertwined. His fingers slid in between yours like puzzle pieces fitting seamlessly together. Everything started out slow, like a perfect daydream, then became fast and desperate. John’s grip on your hands tightened and you had to keep yourself from screaming the neighbors awake. Your bodies trembled in ecstasy together, then separated as you both laid against the sheets, panting and perspiring. Seconds later, you felt John’s hand clawing around for yours, and you grabbed his palm, squeezing it gently. He turned his head to look at you, smiling tiredly. You smiled back.

• • •

An hour had passed since you’d awoken, but it felt like only a few minutes had gone by. After the heat had lifted from yours and John’s bodies and your breathing had returned to normal, you’d slid over to John’s side of the bed and snuggled against him. John chuckled through his nose at this and wrapped a secure arm around you. For several minutes, you both laid in silence, reflecting on what had just happened. John was right when he’d said this wasn’t just sex; he’d somehow taught you what it was like to make love, to actually be intimate with someone instead of screwing for pleasure and ducking out before sunrise. You felt closer and more comfortable with John than ever before. As your bare breasts rested against his side, your finger traced his shoulder lazily, making contact with the inked cross that remained there.

“Your body is so beautiful,” you mumbled, your eyes drifting slightly beyond his shoulders to get a peek at the other tattoos there. FORTIS FORTUNA ADIUVAT, clasped prayer hands, and an ignited torch were among the few that he’d had permanently etched into his skin. John turned his head to look at you, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before responding.

“My body is beautiful?” he repeated in a stunned voice. “Your body is perfect.” Your lips twitched into a grateful grin and you nuzzled his bicep affectionately. Your eyes traveled down to his chest and abdomen, which were littered with scars and bruises. There was an especially deep scar on his lower right side, almost touching his hip. You brushed your fingertips over it gently, catching John’s attention.

“How did you get this?” you wondered aloud, and John blinked down at it.

“Hmm,” he hummed in thought. “That was during one of my more recent escapades. Someone shot me quicker than I had time to dodge it.” Your face flooded with sympathy, but instead of boring him with the typical apologies, you propped yourself up on an elbow and pressed a kiss to his warm cheek. John smiled peacefully, his eyes fluttering closed. It was obvious that he was worn out from the morning’s activities.

“John, can I ask you something?” you started slowly, unsure of how exactly to phrase what was coming next. Without opening his eyes, John responded.

“Sure.”

“Well…” you started, chewing on your lip thoughtfully. “You know how you said I was a natural-born fighter?” At this, John’s eyes opened again and he looked at you with creased brows.

“Yes…” he said, unsure of where you were going with this. You drummed your fingers against his chest, then slid your hand down, resting it comfortably over his stomach.

“I want to become an assassin.”


	8. Clash

John looked at you for a moment, studying your facial expression with his dark eyes. Then, much to your surprise, his lips curled into a wide grin and awkward laughter escaped him. You blinked at him, frowning in confusion.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, and John quirked a brow, his laughter suddenly ceasing.

“You… You were joking, right?” he said, and you sat up, propping yourself up against the pillows.

“Why would I be joking? You said it yourself, you’re amazed at my abilities. I think I could really do well in your profession.” John paused for a moment to let this sink in, then sat up with you, running a hand through his hair tiredly.

“I can’t argue that you wouldn’t do well as an assassin,” he started, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “But… (Y/N)... do you realize how many brushes with death I’ve had in this industry, if you can even call it an industry? You just saw my scar… I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.” He reached up and touched your cheek affectionately. You leaned into his hand, sighing softly.

“You think I don’t know the consequences?” you said, being sure to speak in a calm and rational tone. “I do, and I think it’s worth it. Besides… we could be on jobs together. Wouldn’t that be cool?” Excitement rose in your voice like a child’s on Christmas Eve. John smiled wearily in response.

“Cool isn’t exactly the word that comes to mind…” he mumbled. “It’s a dangerous, dangerous world, (Y/N). Every mission is like the night with the intruders, over and over again.” Instead of feeling anxiety suffocate you at the prospect of this, you remained calm and confident.

“I’m telling you, John, your training has changed me for the better,” you said, bringing your knees up and wrapping your arms around them loosely. “I feel like I can take on anything.” Then, after a brief pause, you added, “and if I’m being completely honest, there’s another reason I want to get into this.” John looked at you curiously.

“What’s that?” he inquired, and you took his hand in yours, curling your fingers around his.

“I want to find Perkins,” you revealed in a quiet and hopeful voice. “I know it’s been years since we last talked, and for all I know, she hates my guts, but… ever since we started training, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. Maybe once we find her, I can talk to her, work with her… something…” You were so lost in your verbal stream of consciousness that you hadn’t noticed John pull away from you and bury his face in his hands. He ran them slowly over his face, then exhaled deeply.

“Fuck,” he muttered, catching your attention. Concern flooded your expression as you saw his abrupt state of frustration and sadness. You slid your hand over his tattooed back and rubbed it gently.

“John, what’s wrong?” He turned his head to face you, guilt flickering in his eyes like flames.

“We’re not going to find Perkins,” he started slowly, and you let out a breathy chuckle.

“Not with that attitude, we’re not,” you joked, and John shook his head.

“No, you don’t get it,” he said in a firmer tone. “We can’t find Perkins. She’s dead.”

A strange mixture of confusion and sorrow took over your complexion upon hearing this news. Your hand slid off of John’s back and instead reached upwards to cover your mouth. Tears welled in your eyes as you stared at him, realizing what his knowledge of this meant.

“You… You told me you didn’t know Perkins,” you began in a wobbly voice. “When I asked you about her the night I met you, you said you had no idea who she was.” John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face again.

“(Y/N), I-”

“Did you know she was dead when I asked you about her?” you interrupted, already off of the bed and tying a stray bathrobe around your otherwise naked form. Tears were spilling down your cheeks at an involuntary rate as John stared at you, sitting atop the sheets in his boxers. He looked guiltier and guiltier by the second as he took longer than preferred to respond.

“Answer me!” you shouted in a hurt tone, and John sighed again.

“Yes, I did,” he said so quietly that he was almost whispering. You stared at him for a moment, struggling to comprehend the information you were just given. Unable to even give him a proper response, you turned on your heel and walked out of the bedroom, starting towards the staircase. You heard the mattress creak behind you, then some rustling, then weighted footsteps approaching you.

“(Y/N)!” John called, pulling on a black tee over the jeans he had just slipped on. “Where are you going?” You reached the bottom of the staircase and scooped up a quick outfit from your suitcase, which had been laying on the carpet beside the couch. The area surrounding John’s house was fairly private, so you knew you could hastily change into these clothes without being seen. You stepped past the dog and halted at the door, turning to look at John, who was standing at the arm of the sofa with a concerned expression on his face.

“I’m going for a walk,” you said in a tight voice. John straightened his shirt and stepped towards you.

“Okay, I’ll go with you,” he suggested, and you immediately held your hand out, stopping him.

“If you follow me, John, I’m never coming back,” you warned, even though you knew deep down that this wasn’t true. You were just so filled with hurt and anger that you didn’t know how to deal with it. Perkins had been your best friend once upon a time, and hearing that she was gone and that John had lied about it was a double whammy that you couldn’t have prepared yourself for. John understood and gave a slow, melancholic nod.

“Okay,” he said quietly, and seeing his total defeat made your eyes sting with tears.

“Dammit, John,” you said in a voice that broke, your lower lip quivering. “Just… dammit.” With that, you turned around and walked out, leaving John wishing that he could turn back time and hold you in his arms again.


	9. Unravel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for the delayed update; I had my birthday and then finished college all in the same week, so things have been a little crazy on my end. I hope you're all doing well! We've officially reached the end of this story. Hopefully you all enjoy it! Happy reading!

For a moment, John stared longingly at the closed front door, finding it a struggle to hold himself back from running after you. He wanted to sweep you up and apologize until he was breathless, but he knew that you needed your distance so you could process everything. So much had changed within the last few hours, and he assumed your head was probably whirling from all of it. With a quiet and regretful sigh, John finally turned away from the door and instead sat down on the empty couch. He touched his elbows to his knees and buried his hands in his face. The dog sensed John’s dwindling mood and headbutted his calf. When this didn’t catch his attention, the pup let out a sad whimper. John lifted his head and looked at him, then gave the cushion next to him a gentle pat.

“Alright,” he gave in. “C’mere.” The dog panted excitedly at this and hopped up on the sofa, placing his paws in John’s lap. When John reached down to pet him, the pitbull licked his hand and gave it the equivalent of a comforting kiss. John smiled meekly at this, then glanced at the door again and let out another deep exhalation.

An hour passed and John was still on the couch, glancing at the entrance to his home every few minutes to see if you were coming through. You weren’t. Two hours went by and John felt panic rise in his system. Recalling how skilled you were in the self-defense field, he pushed that worry aside. When hour three began and you still hadn’t returned, John grabbed his coat and headed for the mustang. When he sat behind the wheel, he thought about looking for you, but instead headed towards a nearby flower shop. No matter how long it took you to come back, he wanted to at least have an apologetic bouquet waiting to greet you.

When John came home thirty minutes later to a still empty house, a concerning thought crossed his mind. What if you never came back? It was quite a dramatic thought, but it was also fairly realistic. It was very possible that he’d hurt you enough to make you never want to see him again, and even the thought of that made his heart sink. Although you hadn’t known each other long, you were the first woman John had even considered romantic possibilities with since the passing of his wife. Now that things had finally started happening between you two, the only lie John had ever told you had to come bubbling up to the surface.

Seated back on the couch, John’s mind wandered to the scene that had taken place in his bedroom earlier that morning. His naked body against yours, your bodies becoming one, your lips unable to stop kissing each other for even a minute. He’d felt so comfortable and peaceful afterwards, just laying with you and feeling closer to you than he had with anyone in ages. The thought of never experiencing another moment like that with you again was too much to bear. John glanced at the front door again, saw it was still shut, and closed his eyes. Taking a nap to escape his worried pondering seemed like the right thing to do.

• • •

By the time you had reached John’s house nearly five hours later, your feet were forming blisters and your legs were beginning to cramp. You had been walking aimlessly around the city, stopping only to grab a bottle of water from a nearby convenient shop before continuing your trek. Your mind raced through the hours, and when you had finally drawn the conclusions you thought necessary, you’d made your way back to John’s place. You got lost twice, then finally found the correct road that led you to his front door. You opened it quietly and stepped in, immediately removing your shoes to reveal exactly what you’d expected - red and blistered feet. You winced and inhaled sharply through your teeth as you sauntered towards the living room, your toes aching. When you spotted John fast asleep against the couch cushions, you emitted a sigh. Had he been sleeping the whole time you were gone? You extended your hand and placed it on his shoulder, giving it a gentle yet firm shake.

“John,” you said in a flat tone, not happy but not exactly angry either. John’s eyes fluttered open and he immediately sat up, hope flooding his sleepy complexion.

“(Y/N)!” he exclaimed, wanting to throw his arms around you but again, holding back. “I was so worried about you!” You stared at him in annoyance.

“You were sleeping,” you pointed out, and John ran a hand through his hair, which had become messy from leaning against the arm of the sofa.

“Well, I-” he started, and before he could finish, you turned around and started making your way back to the door, your feet throbbing with every step.

“You know what? Just forget it.” Your tone was primarily irritated, but there was also a lot of hurt that could be detected too. “I don’t even know why I came back. This is just a prime example of-”

Before you could finish, John hopped off of the couch and ran towards you, placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you around firmly. You stared up at him, looking surprised.

“I was worried about you, (Y/N),” he reassured you sincerely. “I spent hours just looking at the front door, waiting for you to come back. But then I started to think you wouldn’t come back… and I couldn’t handle the thought of that, so I just… escaped it the only way I knew how. I’m sorry.” You kept eye contact with him, unblinking as you soaked in every word he spoke.

“You’re sorry?” you repeated in a whisper, and John nodded.

“For everything,” he confirmed, sliding his hands down your arms to settle above your elbows. “I shouldn’t have told you I didn’t know who Perkins was when I obviously did. It’s just that I-” You silenced John by brushing your thumb over his lips, and he gave it the gentlest, most subtle kiss as you did so.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, John,” you told him in a quiet voice. “As I was walking, I realized you told me you didn’t know Perkins on the night that we met, because... well... we’d barely known each other for two hours when I asked you about her. You were expecting to drop me off at my apartment and probably never see me again… you didn’t owe me an explanation.” John looked at you, an emotional glimmer in his eyes.

“You had just had an anxiety attack and I’d told you who I really was,” he said in the same hushed tone that you’d been speaking in. “I didn’t want to make your night even worse… but by doing that, I fucked up today. And for that, I’m sorry.” Your lips twitched into a wan smile and you gently pulled away from him, making your way towards the couch. You plopped down on the cushions and looked at John, who was approaching you.

“My feet are killing me,” you pouted. “Perhaps walking around for five hours wasn’t my brightest idea.” John let out a sympathetic chuckle, then raised your legs gently, sitting down on the cushion beside you and placing your feet in his lap. He then began massaging them, avoiding the blisters to get to the muscular tension. You breathed a sigh of relief, allowing the comfort of his hands to wash over you before reaching over and touching his cheek affectionately. John looked at you with a slight smile.

“For the record, you didn’t fuck up today,” you promised, and you pressed a kiss to his prickly stubble. As you laid back, John’s smile widened. He took in the moment before eventually speaking again.

“I bought you some flowers,” he announced in an almost sheepish tone, gesturing his head to the left. Your eyes wandered over to the coffee table and you gasped. There laid a bouquet of California poppies wrapped in blush tissue paper. You could smell their delightful spring scent from where you were sitting, but had somehow never even thought to look at the coffee table amidst all that was going on.

“Oh, they’re beautiful,” you gushed in an appreciative yet tired tone. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll find something to put them in later.” John nodded slowly, allowing another brief moment of silence to go by before talking again.

“What about becoming an assassin?” he wondered aloud, continuing to massage you. “Are you still interested in doing that?” You stared up at the ceiling as your head rested against the arm of the sofa, the dog sniffing your hand as it dangled over the edge of the furniture.

“I thought about that on my walk too,” you started slowly. “I think I’m going to put that idea away for a little while. Hearing about Perkins’ death hit a little too close to home, you know? Working beside you will always be a goal of mine, but I just… need a little more time. Is that okay?” John stopped massaging for a moment to look at you.

“Of course that’s okay,” he assured you as you sat up again to face him. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll support it. And just know I’ll never let anything bad happen to you again… ever.” A smile that was full of emotion appeared beneath your nose and you leaned forward, taking John’s face in your hands and attaching your lips to his. His shoulders relaxed as he kissed you back, almost as if all of the worries were draining from his system.

Just as things were starting to heat up, you pulled back slightly, glancing towards the staircase.

“Wanna take this to your bedroom?” you asked, a noticeable glint in your eye. John, who had previously thought he would never share a moment like this with you again, wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him.

“Absolutely,” he said, and he picked you up bridal style, causing you to yelp and giggle with glee. The argument that had seemed so detrimental hours before was now a thing of the past, and the future… well, the future looked brighter than ever before.

THE END


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